Chapter Text
Something wasn’t right. That was Finral’s first thought of the morning before he even opened his eyes. The bed felt wrong, smelt wrong. The entire room felt different, as if it had shifted or been rearranged overnight. It was the way sunlight filtered into the room: the angles it hit and how much space it filled. Too much light. It burnt through his eyelids and into his brain, coursing white hot pain all throughout his body. Whimpering, he rolled onto his side, out of the light’s direction, and slowly opened his eyes. A shadowed form sat in front of him at the edge of the bed. Yami had been there earlier, Finral remembered then. He stayed the night in his Captain’s room with Yami at his side, keeping a heavy arm slung over his shoulders after…
After.
But this person was not Yami. It did not have his height or bulk, nor his protective, albeit intimidating, demeanor. It was someone else. Perhaps someone dangerous.
Finral sat with a jolt, his eyes now open in full alarm. A cold nervous sweat immediately seeped over palms as he grabbed the blanket and drew it close as if to hide. Overwhelmed by pain, his head swayed and his vision became hazy and distorted. He blinked hard to steady his focus. With the third blink, the shadows drifted away from the figure, revealing their identity: Magna. Not dangerous, of course, but embarrassing. It was bad enough that Yami already had to see him like this, and now Magna too?
What embarrassment he felt soon vanished when a strong shockwave of pain zapped through this body, burning as hot and fast as a lightning bolt. It spurred him right back down onto the mattress, where he lay in a crumbled, defeated heap.
“Are you okay?” Magna asked.
Nodding, Finral closed his eyes. “Where’s Yami?”
“Captain’s meeting.”
The Captain’s meeting: Finral groaned at the mention of it, and he struggled to pull himself into a partial sitting position, balancing his weight on shaky elbows. He couldn’t remember the last time Yami had gone on his own. “What time is it? I need to pick him up.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to stay in bed! Yami said so!” Intending to calm him, Magna placed his hands on his squad mate’s shoulders, but swiftly retracted them when Finral flinched. “Sorry,” he apologized, “but you need to rest. Yami will be fine on his own.”
“But he doesn’t even know where his broom is!”
“He found it, so lay down and stop worrying already.” Again, Magna reached for Finral, this time taking extra care as he helped lower him back onto the mattress. Despite the pain pulsating through his body, Finral complied without objection, having no energy or will to fight back. “We practically have to drag you every day to get out of bed,” Magna lightheartedly grumbled as he pulled a blanket over Finral’s shoulders. “I don’t know why you think you need to do something now.”
A sharp twinge poked at Finral’s heart at the remark, and it continued to travel upwards, slicing to his aching head, while Magna fumbled with the pillows. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Past noon. Yami should be back soon.”
Hopefully, Magna thought. He pulled back and stared at his injured friend, trying his best not to gawk at the obvious woods. He’d done enough of that earlier when Finral was asleep, taking a score of the bruises and lacerations littered across his body. The worst of it was on his face, but Magna’s eyes were drawn to the dark splotched ring around his neck. Two smaller rings circled his bare wrists, likely caused by some binding object or spell. As he studied them, Magna wondered how they exactly got there – what Finral was thinking at the time and what the rest of them had been doing.
What was he doing? And what would he do now?
Something, of course. That would be up to Yami. Yami always knew how to fix things; he’d settle the score. But as he watched Finral lie there, his body battered and chest moving in slow and painful labored breaths, Magna wasn’t sure what that could be.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, his tone brimming with concern. “You looked really, really horrible.”
Finral didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, he directed his entire focus on breathing, his fingers clutching onto the damp, sweat-soaked blankets for stability amidst the agony. An oppressive and inevitable weight pressed down upon him. It felt as if covered every inch of his body, stealing the air from his lungs and turning his bones and organs to mush.
“I… I need to throw up.”
Before Magna could react, Finral leaned over and vomited onto the floor. The acidic bile gushed onto the floor and splattered against the stones, quickly filling the room with a sickly metallic scent. A small trail of leftover bile dripped from Finral’s chin as he stared blank-eyed at the floor. “Yami’s going to be pissed,” he groaned miserably, sinking back into the mattress. He turned away from Magna and closed his eyes, willing the world away.
Frowning, Magna perched himself on the edge of the mattress and rubbed Finral’s shoulder. “Don’t be stupid, of course he won’t. As if Captain Yami is going to be bothered by something as little as puke!” Magna glanced at the floor, careful to make sure his boot didn’t step into the mess, and noticed a peculiar tinge of color within the vomit. “That’s blood,” he observed out loud.
Finral nestled his face closer into the pillow. He knew that already – a silvery metallic taste coated his mouth. It wasn’t right. Nothing about this felt right: not the severe levels of pain, the aching pressure in his head and lower half, or the fact that Magna was attempting to be his nurse. The effort was mildly amusing and sweet, but still wrong – his squad mates didn’t coddle him in his way unless it was Vanessa after an awful cold or binger. There was an underlying tone of pity that made his skin itch, and Finral longed to be back in his own bed, disappearing from everyone and his new reality.
What felt like an eternity passed before the door creaked open. Magna nearly leapt in relief when he saw their Captain, Vanessa in tow, standing in the doorframe. “Finally!” he exclaimed.
“The hell does that mean? I got here as soon as I could,” Yami said as he strode into the room. “Is he awake?”
“Yeah, but he’s puking blood.”
Yami’s eyes drifted downward, and he scowled when he spotted the darkened stones. “Great, all over my floor.”
“Captain!” Magna cried incredulously.
Vanessa shot Yami a disapproving frown as she hurried to the clean side of the bed. With her knees on the ground, she caressed the side of Finral’s head, delicately moving his damp hair away from his eyes. “He’s only joking,” Vanessa whispered, bearing a weak smile. She cast another warning glare in Yami’s direction before returning her attention to Finral.
“Yeah, obviously,” Yami added. He remained stationary, arms folded against his chest, while Vanessa and Magna continued to fuss over Finral, who seemed to shrink with each touch. Yami didn’t need to look at his face to know things were turning for the worse. A sickly anxiety radiated off Finral in deep, curling waves, and the room was heavy with the stench of sweat and vomit. “You ready to see Owen?” Yami asked. He waited a beat for a reply, but Finral only burrowed deeper into the blankets. “There’s no way you’re arguing with me about it this time, not when you’re spitting up blood. I should’ve taken you in last night.”
Like Charlotte said. And the lecture Owen will probably give once he saw the state Finral was in.
“I- I don’t think I can,” Finral mumbled from beneath the blankets.
“You’ll be fine. I already talked with him, and he’ll make sure there’s no one else there.”
Breathing an exhausted sigh, Finral timidly peeled back the blankets enough to peer at Yami. “I… I can’t.” Couldn’t move, could barely speak. The world felt dizzy; too unstable and strange, its edges growing dark and grim as the room sunk in, ready to collapse in on itself. “Let me – let me open a portal.”
Yami scowled. “Hey, I said no magic today.”
“We can use my Cyclone,” Magna offered.
“I can’t fly,” Finral said, breathless. His lashes fluttered, drawing the shadows closer. “I can’t even sit that long.”
“More reason to get you to Owen’s,” Yami said. “I already sent in a request for transportation. We’ll bother one of their spatial mages for once. Just got to call them first. You ready to go?”
Finral nodded. “I… It doesn’t feel right.” He was dying - he was sure of it, although he wasn’t certain if that was a bad thing yet. The amount of attention and pity, well meaning as it may be, was overwhelming, and he wanted nothing more than to vanish from the world, from all reality, before it swallowed what little was left of him.
Yami noticed the darkening shift, and as Vanessa moved to comfort Finral again, he nearly told her to stop. She’d been horrified by the news; completely stricken with guilt that she’d slept through the night, unaware of her best friend’s suffering. It may have been for the best, Yami thought as Finral shied from this touch once more, his face painted with misery. The added attention seemed to cause more turmoil rather than mend his frayed nerves. It may have been worse the night before, when the trauma was fresh and raw, when Yami could barely utter a word without driving him into further silence.
But there’d be more obstacles today. An entire squad’s worth of them. They got lucky with most of them in bed, but the rest of the Bulls would all be awake now. And curious too. Half of them already knew something was up, and Asta’s big mouth wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for long.
Sighing, Yami rubbed a hand over his tired brow. “Magna, go round up all the idiots and make sure they stay out of the way,” he ordered. “Vanessa can take care of Finral, maybe help him change into something less gross, and I’ll call Cob. He can meet us outside.”
“I don’t think I can’t walk that far,” Finral whimpered.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. I’m carrying you again.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Finral’s face, tugging his mouth into a small indignant frown. For a moment, he looked close to his normal self, and the group relaxed. “Being carried by Captain is my dream,” Vanessa said with a smile as she gingerly helped Finral up. “Let’s get you out of this and into something nice and clean. We’ll make Magna take care of the floor.”
Finral’s eyes flitted to the dark spot on the floor. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Magna gave him a dismissive wave as he hopped onto his feet and turned towards the door. “You had to clean up after me when I had the flu last winter, so we’ll call it even. I’ll make sure everyone leaves you alone.”
True to his word, Magna managed to clear the hideout by the time their transportation arrived. The quiet was of little comfort as they made their way through the winding halls. With each step, Finral’s anxiety grew stronger. His body restlessly twitched in Yami’s arms, eager to break free and hide before he was forced back into the night.
Yami must have sensed it, too. His grip tightened as they approached the door, ensuring there’d be no escape.
Cob Portaport greeted them with his trademark gusto, exuding a warmth that felt both professional and genuine. He made no comment as he glanced at Finral’s battered face and held a steady grin as he directed them through the portal. Yet, this smile only deepened the unease in Finral’s chest, a peculiar ache that had been mirrored in Vanessa’s tender pity and Yami’s sullen demeanor. What were they thinking, he wondered - What did they see?
Who even was he now?
Finral couldn’t say, nor did he wish to find out. Owen’s examination would be another nail in the coffin to the person he once was; another thick definitive line drawn between before and after.
At least the trip would be brief. Yami had assured Finral of that when his restlessness first surfaced. They would see Owen and then head back home — take a nap or do whatever he wanted. For added encouragement, Vanessa offered to read to him since he wasn’t able to the night before. It was a nice thought, and Finral tried to keep it in mind, using it as a mental worry stone, as they approached their destination.
But it wasn’t Owen who greeted them when they teleported to the infirmary hall. There was someone else; a woman who would make Finral rife with anxiety even on a good day. Charlotte Rosallie, Captain of the Blue Roses, stood at the end of the hall right outside of the medical room. She was dressed in full uniform, and her face carried its usual unwavering stoicism. As they stepped through the portal, her eyes locked onto them, but she kept her silence, her features unmoving.
“Why is she here?” Finral whispered, his voice frantic.
Yami frowned. He’d hoped to get through the examination first, maybe get some sort of drugs in Finral, before introducing the whole Charlotte angle. “It’s just Charlotte. She’s nice… I guess.”
“But why is she here?”
Vanessa considered her warily, her lips curling into the beginning of a scowl as she placed a protective hand on Finral’s shoulder, attempting to soothe him. But it was of no use; Finral squirmed restlessly, kicking one leg out and colliding with Yami’s arm. The jolt sent a wave of pain through him, and he let out a sharp yelp. In the moment of chaos, Yami loosened his grip, nearly letting Finral slip to the floor. Even from across the room, Yami could sense Charlotte’s disapproval of how he was managing the situation.
“She only wants to ask a few questions,” Yami answered, keeping his voice low, as he steadied Finral onto his feet. He glanced at Owen’s closed door and debated if blowing off Charlotte would be worth the trouble — just scoop up Finral and barge right in. At least get his head fixed before forcing him to deal with more invasive shit.
“You said I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone!” Clouds of betrayed tears misted Finral’s eyes, and his lower lip trembled in risk of a full on sob. “I don’t want to be here.” He motioned to open a portal, but Yami grabbed his bruised wrist, stopping him before the portal could fully form.
It was a mistake — a bad one. Finral’s entire body jolted, his eyes widening in fear as tears trailed down his battered face. Yami instinctively opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could get the words out, Vanessa surged forward and grabbed ahold of their Captain’s arm. “Let go of him!”
Yami glanced at the nails poking into his skin before moving to Vanessa’s scowling face. “Relax,” he replied as he promptly releasing Finral. Another mistake: Vanessa reacted the exact opposite. Her glare was sharper than her grip, a flash of fury that pierced through him.
Vanessa pissed and Finral terrified of him. How else could he mess up his squad today?
“Is everything alright?”
Yami’s right brow twitched as Charlotte’s boots clacker towards them, the noise reverberating against the stone walls and floor. She had to be trying to make a point of how loud they were. As she approached, Finral ducked behind Yami, hiding himself behind the Captain’s large frame.
“Just fine, Prickly Princess,” Yami grumbled. Finral’s hands wrapped around the fabric of his shirt, and he couldn’t help but feel mildly relived that, even after the brief incident, Finral still sought him for protection. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.
“Did you not tell him?”
“I was waiting until after we got him fixed up,” Yami said. “Didn’t think you’d be here already.”
Charlotte’s mouth smoothed into a narrow, annoyed line, repressing her thoughts. There was enough tension in the room already, and Yami looked more exhausted than he had earlier this morning. Her attention flickered to the hand grasping Yami’s shirt, noting the bruised wrist. She’d caught a glimpse of Finral’s face before he panicked, and even from a distance his damage was obvious, perhaps the worst she’d seen yet. “I’m sorry we have to meet like this,” Charlotte gently began. “It isn’t easy, but I hope you will talk to me for a few minutes about what happened. You’d be a real help to our case.”
Finral’s fingers twitched, grasping tighter to Yami’s shirt, but he remained silent. Instead, Vanessa responded. “Don’t try to guilt him,” she snipped. “Maybe if you would’ve done your jobs and found them sooner-.”
“Hey, stop,” Yami cut in. He felt Finral leaning further into him, tears wetting the back of his shirt. It’d take something short of a miracle to get them through this day.
As the argument threatened to escalate, the door swung opened and Owen stepped into the hall, momentarily breaking the tension. “Is everything alright? I should’ve known that when I heard all this commotion, the Black Bulls were here,” he said with a small grin. The smile flickered once he caught sight of Finral hiding behind Yami. “Am I right to assume this is who you spoke to me about?”
“Sure is,” Yami said as he attempted to detach Finral from his shirt. “He’s pretty fucked up.”
With a touch of amusement, Owen sighed and shook his head. “Yami, your bedside manner is just as—” His voice faltered as he caught sight of Finral’s pale face, and the last remnants of his smile vanished, replaced by a look of concern. Without hesitation, he strode toward the pair, urgency in his steps. “You should have brought him in sooner. Last night.”
Yami glanced at Charlotte and was instantly met the irritated expression on her face: the expected silent “I told you so.”
“It’s not his fault,” Finral said, his voice quiet and small. “I didn’t want to go.”
Owen’s expression softened. “Let’s get you taken care of. My recovery room is right here. It should be nice and quiet, never mind the mess out here.”
“Do I have to go by myself?”
“Of course, not. One of you two can stay with him,” Owen said, turning to Vanessa and Yami. “I don’t care who, but let’s decide quick. I don’t want to leave him in this state any longer.”
The group lapsed into silence, their collective gaze falling on Finral with unspoken expectation. He was, after all, the reason they were all there: he should decide. But Finral found himself paralyzed, unwilling or unable to decide. The intensity of their gaze bore down on him, tightening around his throat like a heavy vise, each moment of silence pressing harder and stealing the very breath from his lungs.
Vanessa and Yami exchanged anxious glances, uncertain of what to do next; who would be the better fit for such a task?
Charlotte stepped forward. She directed her attention to Vanessa, her tone inviting yet serious, and asked, “If it’s alright, I’d like to have a conversation about last night, to see if there’s anything you remember or found unusual.”
“Sounds like a fine plan,” Owen said before Vanessa could give a proper reply. “Yami, come with us then. You two ladies can talk or stay silent, but no fighting, please. This is a hospital, after all, and people need peace.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed into a slight glare at Charlotte, her lips pressed together in disapproval, but didn’t object. Turning to Finral, she smiled before planting a kiss on his right cheek. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Yami will take care of you,” she said softly. Her gaze snapped to Yami then, and her tone sharpened once more, scowling as she issued her Captain a warning. “You better.”
There wasn’t much for Yami to do once inside the healing room. Owen gestured toward an empty wooden chair positioned a few feet away from the bed, closer to the door than to Finral. Yami hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether he should move the chair closer to the examination bed, hoping to offer a sense of support rather than merely lingering as an awkward observer. However, Finral remained distant, showing no signs—verbal or otherwise—that he desired closer company. He had slipped back into a nearly catatonic state, his body still and his eyes glossed over, lost to the intensity of the moment.
And so Yami remained in place, doing his best to remain quiet while Owen worked. An unease crept into his mind, drawn by the doctor’s expression. The deep furrows etched into Owen’s brow and the taut line of his pressed lips spoke volumes, his jaw clenched in fierce concentration as he examined Finral’s wounds. This was a stark contrast to the composed and polished demeanor Yami had always associated with Owen. Unable to contain his worry, Yami finally broke the silence. “Will he be alright?
“Yes,” Owen replied, not taking his eyes off Finral. “I have a handle on it, but had you waited any longer, this would’ve been a completely different story. There, fortunately, doesn’t appear to be any irreversible damage, but these head wounds are very troubling. This one in particular.” His hand hovered around the area above the crown of Finral’s head, circling the wound. “With fracture like this, they must have used some sort of object.”
Finral shrunk into himself. As Owen’s hand moved closer, he could almost hear the whooshing sound of the attack; feel the solid and terrible thud of some invisible weapon crashed into his skull. The doctor continued, “There are two other head wounds, one the right side of his head, right above the ear, and one on his forehead, but not as severe. The stitching here is done well.”
“Thanks,” Yami said through a yawn.
A subtle smile brightened Owen’s face, and he shook his head. “Perhaps you should consider a career in medicine once you retire from being a magic knight.” He paused, his smile turning to a frown, as he leveled with Finral. “Could you close your eyes for me, please? I am quite certain that my magic sensed this injury, but I would like to conduct a test to verify it.”
Obediently, Finral closed his eyes and steeled himself, trying not to flinch as Owen’s hands approached his swollen face. Starting at the inner edge of his eyebrows, Owen gently palpated around Finral’s nasal bridge and cheekbone, feeling for any irregularities. A whimper creaked in Finral’s throat as the thumbs traveled lower. His body jolted, a yelp breaking free, as Owen’s thumbs traveled in synch across his medial rim, pressing into the tender area. Yami’s heart clenched at the painful cry, stirring up a desperate restlessness, but he forced himself to remain still while the examination continued.
“I apologize for the discomfort,” Owen said, maintaining a soothing tone. “We’re almost done.”
Finral held his breath as Owen tested the area once more, then moving on to the crest of his brows, following the same palpating motion. Owen withdrew, his brows furrowed, deep in thought, and stood with his arms folded across his chest. “There’s slight orbital fracture in the left eye socket, likely from that broken nose,” he said. “How is your vision? Is it blurry at all?”
“A little.”
Yami’s jaw tightened with frustration. Finral hadn’t mentioned anything about this the night before—not that he had said much at all. Outside of those two words, he had remained silent during the examination, retreating deeper into himself as Owen laid out the severity of the wounds.
While Finral chose silence, Yami kept score. Bruised ribs - not broken, thankfully - and a sprained wrist. Broken nose, broken head. Those twin burn marks, likely caused by a cigarette, Owen mused out loud. His body was a canvas of lacerations and bruises: arms, hips, thighs, and chest, telling a story of a brutal encounter. Purple finger marks laced around his neck, left by powerful hands, and a ring of blunted teeth marks stamped into the crook of his neck. It was the last injury that disturbed Yami the most. Its savagery consumed him, lingering with him throughout the long, restless night. Whoever created it would pay. He’d make sure if it.
But already, with the help of Owen’s magic, the sweltering bruises faded into paler hues, and the throbbing in Finral’s head started to dissipate. He’d still be sore for a few days, Owen stated, but, hopefully, far better than before. After completing the examination and administering the healing magic, he offered Finral a beige hospital blanket as a token of comfort. Finral accepted it with a mumbled thank you. His eyes grew distant, consumed by thoughts of what lay ahead, as he absentmindedly draped the blanket over his legs.
“How is your vision? Still blurry?
Finral shook his head. “It’s better.”
“Good. You should be able to leave within the hour,” Owen said. “If Charlotte is finished within that time, that is. The longer you remain here, though, the greater amount of healing I can accomplish.” He stopped for a moment, scanning the weary look on Finral’s face. “But I’m sure you’re eager to get home at this point.”
“We’ll check in,” Yami said. “But he’ll be alright?”
“Yes, he’ll be fine. Sore for a few days, like I said, but I will prescribe something for that. I’ll have Vanessa pick it up while you’re with Charlotte.” Again Owen paused. The corners of his mouth pinched into a tight displeased frown as he gazed at Finral, dreading what was to come next for the young man. “Please keep a close eye on him and let me know about that vision.”
With that, Owen turned and walked into the hall, shutting the door behind him. A dense, unsettled silence seeped into the room. Finral’s eyes darted around the room, skimming over the cluttered cabinets and dim corners, unable to settle on any one thing. A restless energy coursed through him, each heartbeat echoing in his ears as he stared at the austere stone walls, willing them to offer some distraction. Memories flickered in his mind - laughter and gnarled trees swaying in murky light, powerful hands and a piercing, unending pain. Everything he’d have to relive. He glanced at Yami, whose eyes were focused on the door as if he could will Charlotte to arrive faster. They had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, and the anticipation gnawed at Finral’s insides.
Across from him, Yami sat with an unwavering calm, his presence a comforting anchor amid Finral’s whirling thoughts. He had said nothing since Owen left, respecting the silence that enveloped them like a heavy old curtain, both suffocating and safe.
“Do I have to do this?”
Yami turned his gaze toward Finral. Finral’s voice had barely broken the silence, a fragile whisper that hung in the air, almost too faint to grasp, and for a moment Yami questioned whether he had truly heard it at all. Yet there Finral sat, his tired eyes searching Yami’s, as he waited for a response. Yami hesitated for a moment before nodding, his own anxiety mirrored in the low confirmation, “Yeah.”
The answer didn’t feel right to say: too blunt and too stupid, as truthful as it may be. It struck Finral like a forceful slap, causing him to sink even further into the hospital bed, his legs instinctively curling up for protection. Heaving a sigh, Yami continued, “Pretend you’re giving a mission report or something, just stating facts. It might make it easier.”
Finral grimaced and looked away, turning his attention to the thin beige blanket. He picked at the threads, his fingers working in a nervous rhythm, pulling loose strands and watching them unravel. Each tug felt like a small release, a distraction from the conversation that loomed ahead.
“I promise I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can,” Yami said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Charlotte’s alright, and she already told me she’d redact your name. That way, no one who reads the files will know it’s you. Even your brother, if he went snooping around.”
Finral turned to him slowly, his expression torn between resentment and hurt. “You told her about Langris?”
There were those tears again, more of them if possible, and that damned quavering voice. A spasm of annoyance hit Yami then, tugging at his fraying nerves. “Was I not supposed to?”
Finral shrugged. A subtle shift rippled through his demeanor: something quiet and suspicious. Something Yami couldn’t quite figure out. “You okay?” he asked.
“I just want to get this over with.”
“If you’re ready, I can see if Charlotte’s done talking to Vanessa.”
“Sure.”
Yami rose to his feet and made his way toward the door. As he stepped into the hallway, where Charlotte stood alongside a red-eyed Vanessa, his annoyance simmered into something fiercer - raw anger. Anger at himself for fumbling his words, for failing to protect Finral when he should have been watching out for him to begin with and dragging him through more hurt. But more than that, he felt a deep fury directed at those who had thrust them into this painful situation. It was a storm of emotions, too overwhelming for a single day, leaving him grappling for clarity amid the chaos. Too many damn emotions for one day.
Finral’s heart stuttered as awaited Yami’s return, each passing second amplifying his apprehension. When he finally saw the two Magic Knight Captains step through the door, a heavy sense of dread settled in his chest: this interview would be far worse than the examination. He could see it in Charlotte’s face. Typically, Charlotte’s demeanor was aloof, often bordering on icy, but today her gaze held an unexpected warmth. A kindness. So kind that it bordered on patronizing.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” she said. “I know this isn’t easy.”
“It’s fine,” Finral mumbled. Although it was Charlotte he spoke to, his eyes drifted to Yami, searching for some sort of resolve.
“Should I leave?” Yami asked.
He was itching to. Finral could tell. If the question wasn’t indicator enough, Yami had been lingering near the door since returning with Charlotte, just waiting for his dismissal. Of course he didn’t want to hear it, and Finral didn’t want him to hear it either.
But he didn’t want to be alone — not again.
“Do you think you can control yourself?” Charlotte asked.
“Probably.”
She shook her head, almost charmed, as she turned to Finral. “It is up to you, of course.”
Hot tears pooled in Finral’s eyes, a familiar ache creeping in, beginning at the crown of his head and radiating throughout his body. Sniffling softly, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms against his temples. “I… I don’t know.”
Silence stretched between them. “I’ll stay until you want to kick me out,” Yami offered, his voice calm. Despite his reassurance, he lingered by the door, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if bracing himself against the weight of what was to come.
“Fine,” Finral mumbled. A flush of embarrassment crept over him, and he shifted restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. It was as if the very air around him magnified his vulnerability. Everything felt too exposed.
“If it gets to be too much, please let me know. We can take a break at any point,” Charlotte said, sensing his unease. “We’ll move at your pace.” She waited for a response, but Finral remained lost in thought, his eyes stark and empty as bare winter trees. He absentmindedly tugged at a loose thread, the action almost mechanical, as he braced himself for the inevitable questions to come. Pursing her lips, Charlotte reached into her satchel and retrieved a pen and leather-bound notebook, its spine creased from countless uses. She flipped the notebook, its pages rustling as she parted to a clean page. Steadying her hand, she set the pen to paper, ready to begin the interview. The fifth in this case.
“Let’s start with that night. At the bar. Which one did you visit?”
The Dead Rat. They’d been there several times before without incident, at least not anything more than the typical Black Bulls rowdiness, and Finral hadn’t given it a second thought when the name came up. There was nothing out of the ordinary that night: just your typical village bar.
“Did you notice anyone following you or seeming to give extra attention?”
Finral shook his head. “No, not really. I was with Vanessa and two other guys, but they were focused on her. They didn’t even really talk to me.” His eyes widened slightly at the mention of his friend, a memory crashing into his mind like a thunderclap, brightening its shadows. “Um – one of them mentioned seeing her, so I guess… Maybe he was there? Or all of them. I don’t remember seeing them, though. There were too many people.”
Charlotte’s heart quickened a beat. One at the bar, a scout, maybe, eyeing potential victims, ready to select someone too intoxicated or vulnerable in some way. Or perhaps it was his duty to make their intended prey vulnerable. With a slight eager lilt in her voice, she asked, “In total, how many men were there?”
“Three.”
The answer emerged as a whisper, almost lost in the air, yet it ignited a fierce response within Yami. A flicker of dark energy crackled around him, pulsating with barely contained rage. In an instant, Charlotte’s gaze shifted to him, her eyes narrowing into a sharp warning: control yourself, or leave now.
When she turned back to Finral, she noticed his gaze had shifted, drawn to Yami as well. A small, wary frown creased his lips, and his body grew tense. “Finral,” she urged gently, trying to steer his focus back. “Do you remember what this man looked like"?” When he nodded, she continued. “Could you describe him to me?”
Finral hesitated, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tried to find the right words. “I don’t really remember him that well, but I guess… He was younger.”
At least the youngest out of the three, likely somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties and noticeably shorter than the others. His light blonde hair was cropped close to his scalp, framing a round face that radiated nervousness. Yet he remained compliant, obediently taking orders from the elder two. The spark of dark curiosity in his eyes made Finral believe that, had it not been Charmy’s voice breaking through the woods, this man too would have harmed him.
But it was the other two that actually hurt him. Finral began recounting their descriptions, adopting Yami’s suggestion to treat it like a mission report. He hurriedly detailed the most violent of the trio, eager to dismiss the image from his mind. This man had long, stringy black hair that hung around his shoulders and a patchy beard that clung to his jowly face. His eyes were an abyssal dark, so deep they seemed almost black—Finral couldn’t tell if that was reality or merely a trick of his imagination, reflecting the hatred that simmered within him. But the man’s most striking feature was his rotted, yellow teeth, a grotesque reminder of his brutality.
Then there was the leader. The one who had first attacked Finral outside of the Dead Rat. His name, Juhl, was etched in Finral’s mind, a name he wouldn’t easily forget. Juhl had brown eyes and hair streaked with grey, his face devoid of any facial hair. He was the largest of the three, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest that exuded an intimidating presence.
“He was tall. Taller than Yami, I think,” Finral said. “Or maybe as tall. He smoked too.” A thoughtful frown creased his brow, and for a moment he hesitated, a fresh memory bubbling to the surface. “One of them used fire magic to light his cigarette, the youngest one.”
“Did either of the other two use magic?” Charlotte asked, her pen poised over her notebook.
Finral shook his head slowly, the weight of his memories pressing heavily on him, leaving him weary. Charlotte diligently scribbled another note, the rhythmic scratch of her pen punctuating the surrounding silence. “This is good,” she said. “You remember a lot of details, more than we’ve had before.”
“That’s why I have him write all our mission reports,” Yami chimed in, stifling a yawn.
Charlotte good-naturedly rolled her eyes. “Well, that explains the improvement in quality. And legibility.” Her joke popped in the air, but it didn’t elicit a smile or laugh from Finral. He remained slumped, looking just as miserable as when they first began.
“What made you leave the bar?” she pressed lightly.
“I wasn’t feeling well, so I left to get some air.”
“What do you mean by ‘not well’?”
“Sick,” Finral said, his tone subdued. “Maybe a little dizzy.”
“Had you been drinking much at that point?” Charlotte’s gaze was steady, searching for clarity.
Finral shook his head again. “Less than most nights we go out. I wanted to be clear-headed for the meeting in the morning. I was supposed to take Yami there.” He glanced at his Captain, a gleam of apology in his eyes.
“Hey, I can handle things myself,” Yami said. “Sometimes I just choose not to. One of the perks of being a Captain.”
Finral’s lips twitched into a familiar annoyed frown, a blend of irritation and surfacing affection.
Charlotte allowed a lighter moment to linger before steering the conversation back to the task at hand. “Is it possible that someone put something in your drink?”
“I’m not sure,” Finral replied. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he wrestled with the memory. “One of those guys ordered the drinks, and I don’t remember seeing them do anything strange. They weren’t there later.” He paused, deep in thought, trying his best to recall the details. Something must be there. “Maybe something like that happened. I felt sick after the first one, and I didn’t even want the second, but Vanessa—” He stopped himself, guilt slinking in for even hinting at blame toward his friend. “I didn’t want to drink much anyway, so I thought I’d take a break and go for a walk.”
“Where did you go?”
Out into the village, far enough that business faded behind him as the sounds of life grew quieter, giving way to homes and empty streets. He couldn’t recall anyone nearby, nor did he hear any footsteps following. Juhl crept up behind him, moving as fast and silent as a ghost, delivered a sharp whack to his head. The sudden impact stunned him, leaving him disoriented and unable to react, not even a flicker of magic to conjure a portal. Two more blows followed in quick succession, the last strike plunging him into darkness.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself in a dense forest, the smell of damp earth and pine enveloping him. He lay on his back, his arms bound tightly behind him with a magical restraint that siphoned away his mana, leaving him feeling weak and vulnerable to the three men who stood above him.
“Do you remember how it got on?”
Her steady voice cut through his thoughts, instantly freeing him, and Finral shook his head. “They must have done it while I was unconscious.”
Charlotte paused and contemplated her next words. “I know this is difficult, but can you tell me what happened when you woke up?”
A nervous tremor danced across Finral’s face, the memories flickering like shadows in his mind. “They talked for a little,” he murmured.
“To each other or to you?”
“Both, I guess. They were already talking when I woke up.”
“What sort of things did they say?”
The question caused Finral to pause, a tight knot twisting in his stomach as he grappled with his thoughts. He sifted through the jumble of words and memories, trying to recall the order and all that had been said. “They, um… were sort of taunting me, I guess. At first, I thought they just wanted money, so I offered them everything I had. But they just laughed at me.” A shiver ran through him as he remembered Juhl’s mocking smile, the malicious delight as he chuckled and said things usually worked the other way around.
Then a strange and fleeting image popped into Finral’s mind—Yami laughing at that comment. He quickly buried the thought, shoving it deep into his mind until it faded away, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, disappearing beneath the surface.
Charlotte paused and studied contours of Finral’s exhausted face, shadowed by fatigue and the remnants of pain. She deliberated on whether they should stop and take a break. But they had significant ground to cover, with the most harrowing truths looming just ahead, as his bruises told. It would be best to push through. The sooner they confronted it, the sooner he could return home and she could resume her investigation. With the descriptions Finral provided, she may be able to find them.
Clearing her throat, Charlotte moved on to her next question. “Were they aware that you’re a magic knight?”
Finral shook his head, shame flooding through him. “I wasn’t wearing my cloak, and I didn’t even think to tell them.” It was already humiliating enough to have been caught, to hear their laughter echoing like the mocking howl of wolves surrounding their prey. Surely learning that they bagged a weakling magic knight would send them into hysterics.
“Should’ve mentioned me,” Yami said, anger edging his tone. “They would’ve run off.”
Finral flinched at the suggestion, guilt knotting in his stomach. “I didn’t… I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.”
Yami opened his mouth to correct himself, but Charlotte spoke first, her voice firm. “There’s no reason for you to apologize,” she said, turning her cool gaze toward Yami. “And if you can’t hold back your comments, then I need you to leave.”
The air grew thick with tension, the weight of the moment pressing heavily between them. Charlotte let the silence linger a moment longer, underscoring the seriousness of her words. “The next part won’t be easy,” she said, her voice steady and eyes solely on Finral. “But remember, we can pause at any time. Alright?” She waited for Finral’s reluctant nod before continuing, her gaze resolute. “At what point did things escalate to physical violence?”
“Only two of them actually did anything. Anything sexual,” Finral stammered, a knot tightening in his throat. A dry, bitter sensation filled his mouth, making his tongue feel thick and useless as he fought through the memory. Time had seemed to stretch on in those moments, endless as he laid there, trapped like a small animal in a hunter’s grasp while Juhl was free to do what he pleased. And he did, without hesitation or thought, taking his time with Finral, canvasing every inch of his trembling body. Even now, Finral could still feel him; the oppressive damp heat of his tongue against Finral’s skin and the powerful hands squeezing his neck—a visceral reminder of his frailty.
Finral shook his head, attempting to dispel the haunting sensations that clung to him like a relentless specter, refusing to let go. Recalling Yami’s earlier suggestion, he hurried through the details, aiming to keep his words as simple as possible. “It started with only kissing, but when I wouldn’t do what he wanted, like to go along with it, he hit me in the chest a few times and tried to strangle me too.” Each syllable felt like a weight lifted, yet the urgency of his pace betrayed him. As he stumbled through the ending, a sudden, horrifying realization struck him: maybe this didn’t sound good. He didn’t want this; not any of it. Desperately, he rushed to clarify, his trembling voice wavering in the edge of a shriek, hoping to cut off any other thoughts Charlotte or Yami might entertain. “I didn’t want to! I was… I was only pretending for a while. At least until he seemed distracted, and then I bit him. To fight back. I never wanted to do any of it.”
“I know,” Charlotte replied. She set her pen down with deliberate care and fixed her gaze on Finral, her eyes steady and warm, striving to convey her full attention and concern. “Where did you bite him?”
Finral stared at her for a long moment, searching her expression for any trace of understanding or doubt. Then, with a racing heart, he turned to Yami, desperate to decipher his reactions as well. But Yami’s face was a mask—stoic and unyielding, offering no clues to his thoughts. Did he believe him? The weight of uncertainty pressed down on Finral, and at last, he relented, steeling himself to answer the question. “On the lip,” he said. “It didn’t work, but it was all I could do with my hands like that. But… I guess it hurt pretty bad, because he was bleeding. But when he was trying to stop me, one of the other guys, the one with the bad teeth, hit me over the head and I let go.”
“Did he use his fist or an object?”
“An object I think.” Finral closed his eyes as if to summon the moment into focus. “A rock, maybe. Or maybe they had something with them. He didn’t stop even when I let go, and he stomped on my nose, breaking it. I… I don’t know why I even tried, because it was all stupid. It only made them angrier.”
What came next?
The cigarettes. Burned him twice, Finral mumbled as he picked at his nails. The quiet man unveiled his magic in that moment, a flicker of mana igniting as he conjured a flame to light the cigarette Juhl had used to burn his neck and collarbone. Using his bulky weight, Juhl alone was able to pin Finral down, keeping him in place, clamped a hand over his victim’s mouth once Finral screamed, silencing him.
And then?
Then there was no point in fighting back. They were going to do what they wanted, and that was it.
A stifling silence enveloped the room, its weight pressing heavily on Finral’s shoulders, making it hard to breathe. It coiled around his chest, squeezing tight and forcing tears to spill over, drenching his face.
“We can take a break,” Charlotte suggested delicately.
For a flicker of a moment, resentment surged within Finral. Resentment for her unexpected kindness, a kindness she likely offer any other day; for speaking so softly while still pushing him to confront this everything, this ugly reality he’d much rather forget. She already knew what had happened—wasn’t that the very reason they were gathered here?
But Finral shook his head, dismissing the thought. Just get it over with. Then he could finally go home.
“Juhl raped me first,” he said. The words tumbled from his lips with an unsettling simplicity. That single sentence failed to capture the depths of horror coursing through him, the raw fear now embedded in his soul. Yet, despite the chaos raging inside, the revelation emerged effortlessly, stark and plain, as if it were just another mundane fact rather than a harrowing truth.
A sudden wave of vulnerability hit Finral, crashing over him and leaving him feeling utterly exposed. He tugged the blanket up, wrapping it around himself like a desperate shield, as if the fabric could protect him from what already had happened.
“Then the one with the bad teeth. He was… Awful. Really mean. He said he could tell my family is noble, and it made angry… He hated me,” Finral said in a breathless whisper. His fidgeting intensified, fingers twitching like broken spider legs as they tangled within the blanket’s fabric. “I didn’t want to look at him when he was… raping me, but that made him mad, so he bit me.”
“Where did he bite you?” Charlotte asked.
“My neck.”
"Would it be alright if I looked at it?"
Finral nodded, his heart palpitating as she approached. She knelt beside him, her fingers gentle yet steady as she carefully peeled back the collar of his shirt. As the fabric lifted, revealing the wound beneath, Finral’s gaze intuitively found Yami’s. Their eyes locked while Charlotte focused intently on the injury, the air thick with unspoken tension.
“That’s quite a deep bite mark,” Charlotte remarked, her voice tinged with concern as she moved back to her original spot. She met Finral’s gaze, her expression softening. “I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
Finral shrugged, but remained silent, his emotions swirling just beneath the surface.
“What were the other men doing during this?”
“Watching, mostly,” he said. The word hung in the air like a heavy cloud, laden with the memories of their indifference. “They just stood there until he bit me, and then Juhl had to cover my mouth so I couldn’t make any noise. That guy, the one raping me, got angry when I closed my eyes, so Juhl forced me to look at him.”
Her brow furrowed in concentration as she swiftly jotted down more notes, the pen scratching against the paper echoing her frenzied thoughts. “What about the third man? Did he assault you?”
Finral shook his head, the memories flooding back with unwelcome clarity. “No, he said I looked gross with all the blood on me. They almost talked him into it when we heard Charmy. That’s when they let me go.”
“Did they say anything before you left?”
“Juhl wanted me to kiss him one more time so I wouldn’t forget him. He said he’d be thinking about me.”
Behind Charlotte, Yami shifted restlessly. She could feel his barely contained rage, the desire to hunt Juhl down and make him pay for what he had done. Finral’s voice trailed off, fatigue settling heavily over him. “That’s it. I found everyone else and went home.”
“After they removed the item, did you use your magic to transport?”
Again, Finral shook his head, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “I was almost out, and I still needed to get everyone home. I just ran instead.”
Charlotte could sense they were nearing Finral’s breaking point. His cheeks, once streaked with tears, were now flushed, and his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyelids dropped, weighted down by the night’s turmoil, threatening to close once and for all. It felt unfair to push him any further, but she had more questions to ask; more vital details to dig out. It was the part of her job she hated most, and she hoped Finral could forgive her for it.
“How far do you think you traveled?”
“Not sure. It was closer to the village than I thought. It felt further away.”
The woods loomed dark and silent, a treacherous world apart from one he’d known. A bleak and endless realm, one that he’d, perhaps, never fully escaped.
Charlotte’s eyes flashed with sudden interest, something that bordered on hope. “Did you recognize anything while you were in the woods? Any particular rocks or perhaps a unique tree? A body of water?”
“No. It all looked the same, but I guess I didn’t really look around,” Finral said, his weariness palpable. Each word felt like a monumental effort, and he struggled to think of anything useful to say. The details floated in his mind like the muddled, murky depth of of a lake, indistinguishable from each other. With a heavy sigh of defeat, he murmured an apology. “That’s all I remember, I guess.
“There’s no need to apologize,” Charlotte consoled him, her voice warm yet firm. “You’ve provided us with valuable information. It’ll be an enormous help.” A silence stretched between them, and Charlotte again tried to offer him assurance. “I promise we will do everything we can to find them. They won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else again.”
Anyone else. The possibility of others pierced a nerve within Finral, snapping him out of his stupor, and he straightened slightly. “Were there others?”
“Four that we know of.”
The weight of the number sunk into his chest, and Finral fell silent, grappling with the revelation. “Are they okay?” he asked, the words heavy on his tongue.
Charlotte offered a small, reassuring smile, her eyes soft with empathy. “They’re doing better, and I check in on them regularly,” she said. “They’re healing, just like you will, too.”
But her words seemed to drift over Finral like a loose breeze, barely touching him. Once more, he fell silent, his gaze turning distant. A glossiness creeping into his eyes as he stared at his blanket-covered lap, lost in his own thoughts. It was enough thinking for one day, Charlotte decided. She closed her notebook with a solid flap, signifying the end of the interview, and slipped it, along with her pen, into the depths of her satchel. “You’ve been through a lot. You should go home and rest.”
Yeah, it’s about nap time,” Yami chimed in, yawning as he stood. “Think you can walk now?”
“I should be fine,” Finral replied, though doubt gnawed at him. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the floor, desperately trying to assert himself. “It doesn’t hurt as much as before.”
The moment he finished speaking, a searing wave of pain hit him, making his knees buckle. A whimper escaped, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around his ribs, using his free gripping the bed’s edge for support.
Both Charlotte and Yami moved closer, but Yami reached him first, slipping an arm around Finral’s shoulders, poised to lift his now trembling body. “We can see if Owen can do more—” he began, but Finral cut him off, his voice rising with anxiety.
“No, he said I’m fine! I want to go home!” Finral held his breath, trying to steady himself against the pain ringing within him. He needed to do this, to prove he could manage this on his own and that he wasn’t just a fragile victim. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You said that last night when your face was bleeding.
“It’s not bleeding anymore,” Finral said, gritting his teeth as he fought against the discomfort.
Yami regarded him for a moment before heaving a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I’m not doing this again.” In one smooth motion, he swept Finral into his arms, lifting him effortlessly off the floor. Finral shot him an annoyed glare, irritation flashing in his eyes.
“What?” Yami replied, his tone flat yet playful. “You’re the one who wanted to get home right away. We’ll be waiting forever if I let you walk.”
Finral muttered a response under his breath, too quiet for Charlotte to catch, but his irritated expression was unmistakable. His annoyance only deepened once Yami laughed. A small smile crept onto Charlotte’s lips at the playful exchange, but the moment Yami glanced her way, her expression shifted to a familiar stoicism.
“I’ll be in touch with any new developments,” she said. “And Yami, please don’t go off trying to solve this on your own.”
Yami scoffed, his grip firm around Finral as he made his way toward the door. “Sure thing, Prickly Princess. I’ll be sleeping, anyway. Thanks for your help.”
“And please let me know if either of you remembers anything new. Every detail, no matter how small, is important.”
Finral nodded in acknowledgment, but added nothing more. He’d already said enough; remembered more than he wanted. All he wanted now was to go home and sleep.